Last Night
by Xescay
Summary: It's taken America some 400 years to lose his virginity. The only problem is... He can't remember who he lost it to. Based on the image by Hyperkaoru13. Adults only.


Hello! Sorry it's been so long since I last was here! **Please do not read this story if you're not 18 or above.**

The picture this story was based on can be found here - fav. me/ d5t4vs0 (remove the spaces)

Hope you enjoy!

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It was bright – far brighter than any day he had ever experienced before. Groaning as he held his pounding head, the blonde man stumbled to the vanity mirror, where he stared down a haggard unshaven man who glowered equally as fiercely back at him. There was a moan behind him, and he turned, wincing as a knife of pain sliced through his skull.

"Oh? America, you're awake?" the voice was innocent. Child-like, almost. Shuddering at the voice, the blonde man turned and grinned. What was he doing in his room?

"Yes," the American forced the words out between gritted teeth. His blue eyes turned up to glare at the reflection of mirthful amethysts. "What're you doing here, Russia?"

"Oh, you don't remember?" there was a short laugh as the shorter youth struggled with his faulty memory. There were flashes – short flashes – of the soft warmth of bodies pressing against each other and the slick heat that engulfed him. He could remember being filled, and a few colours, but beyond that, there was…

…Nothing…

"Do you want to tell you what happened?" Russia whispered into his ear, his breath dancing tantalisingly across America's neck. He paused as he suckled the earlobe, gently tugging at it as his hands began to roam across his chest and lower and lower… America's breath caught in his throat as he struggled to keep calm despite the Russian's ministrations. "Do you want to know just how much of a slut you were?"

"Ah… no…" his head fell back onto the Russian's broad chest as his legs buckled beneath his weight. His eyes slid shut as he pulled at Russia's shirt, his breathing growing erratic as the taller man's pace grew quicker and quicker.

"A-ah!" Russia continued stroking, his hand eventually coming to a stop as America sighed and lay on the tiled floor. His eyelids fluttered and his lips were bruised from him biting them to remain quiet.

The harsh sound of a photo being taken from a mobile stirred America from his bleary paradise. Slowly rousing himself, he looked up at Russia's smirk.

"What did you do…?" his eyes turned away at the cold violets, and he found that he couldn't take his eyes off the whiteness that marked the otherwise black floor. Everything just seemed so wrong. Why were there so many fragments, with so many people? China, France, Canada, Russia, England even… Which one of them had…?

"I'll give you a clue, America," Russia's smile turned creepy – murderous, even. "I just sent this to your first. He's going to be so very disappointed…"

America slumped onto the ground and nursed his throbbing head. Who was it? Could it be…?

The next day was filled with apprehension, as a deathly silence draped itself over the World Meeting. America fidgeted quietly in his seat, as whispers and murmurs surrounded him, tainting the air of regret that surrounded him.

"_Amerique_," the country of _l'amour_ was the first to break the silence. His eyes turned to Alfred, their deep blue depths revealing yet another memory from the blank canvas of the younger man's mind.

"_Ah, France, please…" his hand threaded itself into the golden locks, tugging the shorter man closer. His heart pounded, the sound filling his ears as it accompanied the symphony of sighs and groans and lewd slaps of flesh and flesh. "Faster…" _

_The elder man was more than happy to fulfil the younger blonde's requests, his grunts growing louder as the duo raced toward completion. He could feel the other, throbbing within him. He could feel the other's hands running up his arms, down his chest and tracing the heat pooling in the pit of his stomach. _

"_France…" his fingers reached out, tracing the contours of the other's face as his vision began to go hazy. "France, I, I'm gonna…"_

"_Come," the sensual voice whispered to his ear, the simple word undoing every bond and destroying all inhibitions within the youth._

"_France!"_

"I think you and I need to talk," the man whispered, tugging his hand away from his lap. "Come on."

Nodding mindlessly, America obeyed, allowing himself to be dragged out of the stony room, his eye wandering to Prussia, to Japan, to China, Germany, Canada and finally to… _England…_ His breath hitched as his eyes turned down. A warmth spread across his cheeks. Could he be… ?

Angry green eyes turned up to glare at him viciously. "I believe the frog was going to talk to you…?"

"Ah," America looked up, flustered. "Yeah…"

As he turned around, his eyes looked downward again, and as he wallowed in his own misery, he failed to notice England's own…

"America!" France's voice was loud in his ear – perhaps he was still a bit hung-over? The shorter man's hands rested on his shoulders, and angry slices of the sky glowered at him. "Why aren't you paying attention to the meeting? Why aren't you acting normal?"

America's shocked eyes turned to the side as his face coloured in shame. "Why should I say…?"

"Because!" Because…" it was France's turn to look away. "I can't say…."

"Well that's hardly a good reason, now is it?" America's eyes flashed with frustration. "Just… Leave me alone… You wouldn't understand! I don't remember what happened, but who was my… Well…" He turned to the door, where he spotted a pair of emeralds, peering from the crack. A flush coloured his cheeks, tinting the tips of his ears. "England…?"

The door creaked open. "Yes?"

"How much did you hear…?"

"I only looked because the frog was shouting so loudly," the elder man shrugged nonchalantly. "So, you want to know who was your first?" a bushy brow cocked in an inquisitive expression – hiding, perhaps, America thought with a shiver, some deadly intent. "I know. How about I tell you?"

America hesitated for a moment. "Who was it…?"

"Well, it started because no one asked you to be your Valentines. You decided to drink, got a bit tipsy, and got the frog to take you home. He was busy with… _other things… _So he got me to pick you up. You were really drunk, and told me that you-!"

"No, no, no, no, no! It's okay! I don't want to know the rest!" America covered his face with his hands. "Thanks for telling me, England, but I really need to go to the toilet!"

"No," England pulled the front of his shirt closer, forcing their faces closer. "I didn't get to tell you my reply. America, I…"

"England, really, it's-!"

Soft warm lips moved against his own, and hands wandered and tangled themselves within his hair. Surprised beyond shock, America responded with an attack of his own – licking and begging for permission to explore the inside of the elder man's mouth. They moved against each other, tongues dancing in a synchronised mouth tango. Hands wandered, interrupted only by France clearing his throat.

"Get a room, please…"

America's face flushed and he turned away. "I'm sorry, I really need to go to the toilet!" He rushed away, face in hands, feet pounding on the marble floor.

"But I haven't told you I love you yet, you bloody git!"

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Do you think I should write a sequel? How about a nice lemony sequel? Comment and/or critique, and if I get ten (or if I get a really nice review), I'll write one for you lot!

XOXO

Happy Valentines Day!


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